


Did You Get My Text?

by ThriftShopYarn



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, ER work, Friendship, Gen, and a few swears, but mostly ponies and butterflies!, vague description of a resuscitation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 23:57:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2830694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThriftShopYarn/pseuds/ThriftShopYarn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yes, Combeferre did get your text. He just couldn't answer because he was too busy questioning his life choices. </p>
<p>Written to fulfill the prompt of "someone doing something nice for Combeferre."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Did You Get My Text?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whooves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whooves/gifts).



> Happy Holidays whooves! 
> 
> Sooo I had some trouble coming up with a title for this, but then a random lyric from Book of Mormon got stuck in my head so I went.."Why not!"
> 
> And I just want to say..this whole thing was intended to be humor. I tried. I really did. But some slight angst may have crept in there. Ah well. This is the Les Mis fandom. We wouldn't be here unless we were gluttons for punishment!
> 
> (Don't own nothin'. Except some observations from my brief stint as an ER social worker.)

Did You Get My Text?

_Courf: Hey! How’s it going?_

_Ferre: Fuck my life._

_Courf: That great, huh?_

_Ferre: We’re 15 deep in triage. I’ve been puked on. Twice. There’s nothing in the break room but crackers and I haven’t peed in 6 hours._

_Courf: Aw hun. Can I do anything?_

_Ferre: Build a time machine. So I can go back to the moment I decided to take an ER position and punch myself in the face._

_..._

Courfeyrac frowned at his phone. There was something _off_ about Combeferre’s responses. Of course, his friend often griped about work. What sane person didn’t? But not like this. Courfeyrac had never known the commonplace annoyances of the medical profession to ever bother Combeferre. The man had the patience of a saint. He rolled his eyes at bodily fluids. He never failed to address his patients as “Sir” or “M’am” no matter how rude they were to him. He had been known to give lollypops to crying children. For Combeferre to complain about something that was, in his world, as banal as puke, meant something else was on his mind, and had been for a while. In addition, there was a touch of self-loathing in his response that had Courfeyrac worried about his normally calm, gentle friend. Courf drew a deep breath, and hollered for the handful of friends currently sharing his home.

It was time to get to work.

...

Combeferre stared down the young man standing before him, brought in by the police for suspected drug use. The kid gazed back, blank faced and shaggy haired, everything about him trying and failing to present a “who me?” vibe. Combeferre didn’t need to glance down at the small cup in his hand. The cool plastic against his fingers more than spoke for itself. “Do you think I’m stupid?” he asked the kid, his voice flat with weariness and frustration. The boy shrugged, flipping his bangs into his face to avoid Combeferre’s eyes. Combeferre slammed the cup of useless water onto a nearby cart, and slapped a sterile one into the boy’s hand. “Actual urine this time, please. Or we’ll have to conclude something is seriously wrong with your bladder.” Dull eyes suddenly flashed up at this, and the kid scuttled back into the bathroom.

Combeferre’s phone buzzed in his pocket, alerting him to a new text. In spite of his tiredness, he felt himself smile. Even though he was often too busy to actually respond to texts, 'Ferre liked to keep his phone on him. For emergencies, he told himself, and considering the type of people with whom he was friends, his reasoning was quite legitimate. But if he was being totally honest, 'Ferre liked knowing his friends were talking. To each other. To him. That they were okay and having fun and dreaming and revolutionizing _far away from here._ He needed a reminder that there was a world outside of the ER. That need had been growing steadily stronger over the past few weeks.

From the recesses of the bathroom, a voice called out “I don’t think I have any in me, man!”

“You blew a two point three,” Combeferre called back. “I beg to differ!” He rolled his eyes and risked a glance at the phone.

_Courf: Hey! We’re outside!_

_What??_

_..._

In the hospital parking lot, Courfeyrac was grinning ecstatically at his own cleverness, squashed in the backseat of Enjolras’ car between Jehan and Eponine. Jehan had the honor of holding the slightly greasy paper bag in his lap. Courfeyrac was busy texting as Eponine’s hands darted around him, trying to snag a fry from Jehan’s grasp. Enjolras sat in the drivers’ seat, eyes narrowed and fingers flexing on the wheel, valiantly not saying exactly what he thought of his friends’ shenanigans.

_Courf: Operation Feed the Ferre is a go! We come bearing sustenance! See you in a few!_

_Ferre: OMG you guys!! Really???_

_Ferre: Oh wait. Shit. Mercy is working triage tonight. She won’t let you by._

_Courf: Dude it’s not like we’re gonna rush in yelling CHHAAARRRGGGEEE!!!!_

_Ferre: I’m serious. She is infamous for this. If you don’t have a legit reason to be here she won’t give you the time of day._

_Courf: Keeping our dear friend from keeling over due to starvation IS a legit reason. Just watch. I will slay her with my charm._

_Ferre: Godspeed._

Courfeyrac entered the waiting room with his trademark bouncing step. The room was packed with people. People on cell phones. People trying unsuccessfully to calm crying children. People who, against all reason, were actually attempting to sleep in their hard plastic chairs. Courf picked his way to the front desk wearing his most winsome smile. The dark haired woman across from him was typing furiously on the keyboard in front of her, giving rapid instructions into the phone jammed between her shoulder and ear. With her thick black -rimmed glasses and pencils thrust through the messy knot of hair on top of her head, she did not look nearly as intimidating as Combeferre seemed to think. Courfeyac waited until she paused for breath before speaking, his smile adorably apologetic.

“Excuse me, Miss, I know you’re busy but...” Her eyes snapped up, giving him a once over so through Courf could feel her gaze peeling back his skin.

“Take a seat please,” she said, in a voice clearly used to being obeyed. “And I’ll have a nurse with you shortly.”

“Oh, no,” Courfeyrac said quickly, adjusting his smile to ‘sheepish.' “I’m not sick or anything. I just have...”

“If you are here to see family our security guard will be happy to assist you.”

“No, I just need to see my friend. He works here. Emile Combeferre.”

Mercy had returned to her work. This clarification did not even warrant a glance up from the keyboard. “Combeferre is with a patient. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.”

“It’ll only take a second! I just have something for him. Maybe you could call...”

“Sir, if you are not a patient or family you cannot go onto the unit.” Mercy said, with an air of dangerous finality.

Courfeyrac felt his smile falter.

...

 

Back in the car, Courfeyrac huddled miserably into the backseat. Jehan rubbed his arm consolingly while Eponine watched them both and smirked. “I failed!” wailed Courf. “I looked into her eyes and my legs turned to jelly!”

“So we’ll just legit-ify you,” said Eponine. “Get you a black jacket and hat, and ta-da! You’re a delivery boy!”

“It can’t be me, Ep. I’ve been made. If you want to be the one to walk into an ER with an unmarked bag and a shady disguise, be my guest.”

Eponine tossed her hair, and due to the tight confines of the car, smacked Courf in the face with it. “Challenge accepted.”

No one heard Enjolras quietly groan, “Oh dear god.”

Fifteen minutes later Eponine returned to the car with a huff. Her face was red and she was panting slightly. “Well. Now I can cross being forcibly removed from a hospital waiting room off my bucket list.”

...

Combeferre was beginning the process of inserting a tongue depresser into the mouth of a crying six year old when he felt his phone buzz again. He was too busy protecting his fingers to answer. But between his grumbling stomach and the sudden fear that his idiotic friends might have actually gotten themselves arrested and god he would probably have to bail them out because Enj could be so life-stupid he occasionally forgot his wallet...well, he would be lucky if he came out the other end of this without needing stitches. Through sheer force of will he managed to complete his examination without losing any digits, then took a hurried moment to check his messages.

_Courf: You weren’t kidding._

_Ferre: Told you._

_Courf: Does she also subside on the souls of small children?_

_Ferre: Only on Tuesdays._

_Ferre: Don’t worry about it. Really. You guys must have better things to do._

_Courf: Oh we’re just getting started._

_Jesus. H. Christ._

_..._

“Ok. We try it this way. Ep, give me your hat. Jehan, get extra cute. You’re going to be my kid.”

Enjolras banged his head against the steering wheel as Courfeyrac attempted to stuff the sandwich bag beneath a protesting Jehan’s oversize sweatshirt.

...

Combeferre elbowed his way through the group of officers still babysitting his drunk patient. Seeing as the young offender’s only “disturbance” had been his inability to navigate a pee cup, 'Ferre highly doubted all four of them were needed to keep him in check, clogging up their hallway and drinking their soda in the process. Having finally seen to all of his assigned patients, 'Ferre figured he had a few minutes to chart before somebody needed something and his name would inevitably be called. Vanessa, a nurse from the next station who was known for her sarcastic wit, slumped into the chair next to him, murder in her eyes. “If one more suburban mom comes in here tonight panicking about her colicky child, I will cut a bitch," she growled. 

When he had first begun his job, Combeferre had promised himself he would never let his personal frustrations lead to him thinking of his patients in such a way. Tonight however, trying desperately to get his blurry eyes to focus on the computer screen in front of him, and to squelch the wave of disappointment in himself that had been becoming more and more familiar, he could only mutter a tired, “Amen.”

_Code Blue! ER! Exam room 5!_

_..._

“No, really guys, hear me out!” Courfeyrac pleaded. “I’m not talking life-threatening injury here. I’m saying we call Bahorel and ask him -politely!- to come out here and punch one of us in the face. I’m pretty sure he knows how to do it without breaking anything.” He looked at his friends expectently.

“By _one of us_ , you’d better mean you,” said Jehan dryly.

“No need to name names. I’m not calling out anyone in particular. Let’s just take a moment to consider which of us would look the most pathetic with a superficially  bruised jaw.” The silence in the car became exceptionally pronounced as Courf resolutely ignored the death glares he was receiving from either side.

“ _Super_ superficially, guys come on!” he finally whined.

“And do you expect Combeferre to be grateful for dinner when the only reason he has it is because one of his friends was stupid enough to get deliberately injured?” said Enjolras, speaking up for the first time in a while. He had started reading articles on his phone seven suggestions ago, figuring the less he heard the less he would have to answer for later to a very upset Combeferre, but even he had his limits.

“No,” Courfeyrac muttered, kicking the seat in front of him petulantly.

“Well then.”

Courf dropped his head back with a muted thunk. “All right then, I’m officially out of ideas!” A pause. “Wait. Unless....”

...

Combeferre was tired to his bones as the crossed the parking lot, but felt some lightness return when he spotted Enjolras’ car. He approached and knocked on the passenger side window. Enjolras looked up from his phone, smiled, and unlocked the doors. In spite of the fact he had driven his own car to work and it was, in fact, parked several spaces away, he slid in and settled back in the seat with a sigh. There was a crumpled, greasy bag at his feet that smelled like fries. Ferre’s stomach grumbled and he reached for it but Enjolras slapped his hand away.

“No. Just..no. Believe me, I cannot, in good conscience, let you eat what’s left of that.”

“So, I assume Mercy lived up to her reputation as hospital gorgon?”

“Shh,” Enjolras put a finger to his lips and jerked his head towards the back seat. Ferre twisted around to find Eponine, Jehan, and Courfeyrac slumped over each other, sound asleep. He smiled. “Scheming really tuckers them out, huh?"

“Not really,” said Enjolras. Their ideas were starting to cross the border of “acceptably illegal,” so I started driving in circles until they fell asleep.”

“‘Acceptably illegal,’ god, I can’t believe we have a category for that,” Combeferre said.

Enjolras raised an amused eyebrow at him, then said, in a more serious tone,“So, how was your shift? Courf was a little worried. Said you sounded off in your texts.”

“Oh, it’s just been chaotic lately. Seems like people just keep getting sicker and there’s not enough of us to go around.” Combeferre said lightly. When it came to talking about himself he could never, ever bring himself to tell the whole truth right off the bat. But if asked, he wouldn’t hold much back. And sometimes, he _really_ , _really_ wanted to be asked. Luckily, Enjolras knew him well, and was kind enough to play the game with him.

“Seems to have been like that for a while,” Enjolras observed. But then he let silence linger, waiting patiently, as he always did, when Combeferre wanted, needed, to say more.

“Someone coded,” Comebeferre said finally, spilling the truth as he always did in Enjolras’ company. “We..we got him back. He’s intubated now. In the ICU. I’m not sure what will happen...if he’ll wake up.”

“That must have been stressful, to say the least.” Enjolras prompted softly, his eyes compassionate.

“But you know what the worst thing was?” Combeferre continued, because now he couldn’t stop, and he was relieved. “His wife saw the whole thing. The resuscitation. And it’s not pretty...what we do. And she watched us, all by herself. Someone should have been with her, or made sure she didn’t have to see that. That’s what made me feel sick, afterwards. And you know, sometimes, after that, after doing all that...sometimes we’re just prolonging the inevitable.”

“I’m guessing that’s what’s really been bothering you.”

“Huh?”

“Feeling as though you aren’t making a difference,” said Enjolras gently. Ferre opened his mouth immediately to protest, to deny it, that _of course_ he knew. _Of course_ he was making a difference. He wouldn’t have chosen this career if he did not believe that was true.

“But knowing it and feeling it are two different things,” said Enjolras, reading his mind in a way that should have felt creepy, but instead filled Combeferre with a surging sense of relief.

“Yes. I...yes,” was all he could say. 

Enjolras paused for quite a while before speaking again, but Ferre was not worried. This was Enjolras’ thoughtful silence, when he wanted to be sure he got the words just right. “If it helps at all, everyone in this car, to an extent, knows how you feel. Myself included.”

Combeferre could not help but shoot his friend a sideways glance that said ‘oh really?’

“To an _extent_ ,” Enjolras reiterated. “I could never do your job, Ferre. God, I’d be terrified. But feeling helpless? Feeling that no matter how good your intentions, you’ll never truly change the things that matter? Yeah, I know that.”

Combeferre met his eyes, read the seriousness there. “And so do they,” Enjolras continued, gesturing to their slumbering friends in the backseat. “I guess all I’m saying is, I know it always isn’t easy for you, but please don’t be afraid to talk to us.”

“But what if I can’t, sometimes?” Combeferre muttered.

“Then those are the times your idiot friends will risk life and liberty to bring you a sandwich.”

“Let’s not forget who the biggest idiot here is,” Combeferre replied.

“Hey, I offered to drive, didn’t I?”

“So you did.” As comfortable as he was, Combeferre made a move to get up. “I guess I’ll see you at home.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Enjolras said easily. “I’ll drive you. Someone can get your car later. Get some rest.”

Combeferre felt himself drift off to the sound of the revving engine and a murmured promise to stop for fresh take out on the way home.


End file.
